Cold
by Endgegner07
Summary: The thoughts of a cold detective and a doctor with a cold. Edited as of December 2008.
1. Doctor with a cold

**Title:** Cold  
**By:** Endgegner07  
**Rating:** K+  
**Summary: **The thoughts of a cold detective and a doctor with a cold. Their musings are different, yet focused on the same thing and they wonder what the other one thinks.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock Holmes.  
**A/N:** My third piece of fiction. A really big THANK YOU to my beta-reader Zant. You are simply the best! Keep in mind English isn't my native language, thank you.  
Well, here we go!

**Cold**

I stare out of the window. It is snowing. No surprise really; it is in the middle of December after all.

Cold days, cold nights. It is snowing. I can see the snowflakes, each one unique and singular in its form.

Snow is a strange thing. To think that simple frozen water can appear so purely white and be so soft to the touch, yet so cold and deadly for those who can´t protect themselves against it. I can feel the ache my wounds, but they don't pain me as much as in recent years.

Winter has its disadvantages. I hate to see the poor and ragged on the streets suffer because they have no home to go to. I don't like the fact that so many people become ill. Many people can die in only one cold and merciless night.

It may seem strange, but other than that I like the cold.

Afghanistan was a hot hell filled with desperation, anguish, death and hate.

I hated the sands, it was everywhere.  
I hated the dry smell of the desert, it made me feel as if I was suffocating.  
I hated the hot days in the field hospital that caused those already suffering from injury and fever even more pain.  
I hated the noise of the battle and the screams of the dying.  
I hated the feelings of agony and heat when I lay ill after Maiwand.

I hated the heat and being hot in general. That taught me the values of winter.

I like the snow glittering on the streets. Snow glittering in the sun is one of the most wonderful sights I have ever seen.  
It shimmers and reflects the light. The white of the snow is absolute and unflawed, not stained with blood of men, as the sands in Afghanistan were. I like the clear dry air, it makes me feel alive, no matter how tiring the day. I like the clear and sunny days. I like the peace and quiet of the nights when it is winter.

When I was but a child, I loved winter mostly because of Christmas. I loved the warm feelings I assosiated with Christmas.  
The whole family would come together and talk in the evening before the roaring fire in the fireplace of the mantle.  
There would be presents and sweets and that magnificient Christmas tree, standing green and tall.

I vividly remember the way it was decorated, with red and green balls of glass. That stopped when my mother died. She died in the middle of summer because of a fever – no one was able help her. I remember the hot day and the way the doctors talked to my father. I think after that I decided to become a physician.

Another bad experience I associate with heat. Christmas has never been the same for me.

I can hear steps on the stair. It is Holmes; he has been out all morning and noon. His face is flushed red because of the cold, he looks quite different with his red ears and the colour in his cheeks.  
Not the usual paleness of his skin, that makes him look unhealthy and ill. His hair is slightly wet and out of order because of the snow, it is falling into his eyes. He greets me and goes into his room to change into something more comfortable.

I wonder, what does _he_ think about the winter and the cold?

I could imagine that he hates it. There are not many cases for him to solve in winter. It is much too cold for criminals to commit crimes. He is forced into inactivity and he hates it.

Luckily, he is busy with a case now. Some strange murder has been commited that has Scotland Yard once again baffled.  
I am not helping him with the case. I have caught a slight cold.

Ironic.

I'm sitting here and thinking about the benefits of winter while being ill.

Holmes is adamant that I rest and get well and I don't want to argue with him. I'm glad he has got a case.

He comes out of his room, he is wearing his old grey dressing gown and his hair is no longer damp and disordered. He crosses to the mantle to select a pipe.

He fills it, lights it, throws me a quick glance and crosses to the window to look out into  
the snowflakes swirling past our window.

I wonder what he is thinking.


	2. Cold Detective

It is snowing again. That means it is too cold for rain. I dislike snow. It hinders me to solve the murder case I am workin on. Scotland Yard is confused as usual and has called me to help.  
This case isn´t a simple one and I am glad that it isn´t. After nearly two weeks of forced passivity, my mind longed for a worthy challenge.

It is a difficult case and the snow and cold of the winter aren´t helping.  
I always have loathed the winter. It is too cold for the criminals of London. Few crimes are commited.

When I was younger, my parents did not allow me outside when it was cold. They didn´t want me to become ill.

Not that they were concerned, for my elders were cold people who didn´t show me, nor my brother, any affection.

They didn´t want a sick child in their household and the fuss it would cause. So I stayed indoors.  
I liked being outside and obsering things, even as young as I was back then, so winter became my most hated season. I came to loathe the forced inactivity and the cold. I like the warmer weather of spring and summer, when I can go for walks and let my thoughts linger on different problems.

A quiet cough interrupts my musings. I don´t have to turn around to see who cought.

It is Watson. A docter himself, but he has become ill.

Oh, he assures me that it is just a cold and that he is perfectly fine, but I know my Watson.  
Watson constantly complains about me not caring about my health, yet he works everyday, in every weather, every time of the year. May it snow or hail or be a red-hot hot day in summer.

He hates to see people suffer. He has seen a lot of suffering in his career and will continue to do so. He is a doctor after all.

I noticed him not being well on an evening four days ago. He hast returned late from work and once he came into the living room, he had a bad coughing spell because of the sudden change from icy cold to warm air.

I told him to rest. I know that he will continue to work and become even more ill if I don´t insist.  
So he is sitting quite peacefully in his chair now.

Just one more reason to dislike cold and winter, is Watson being ill. I am so used to his presence while solving cases that I am disturbed by his absence.

I quickly throw him another glance. He is sitting and staring into the flames of the fireplace. I wonder if his wounds is bothering him. It is an unusually cold winter. The cold causes his shoulder to stiffen and his leg to ache so he can´t move well and it is painful when he does. Does it hurt less now, after all this years?

I hope so. He doesn't deserve to be in pain.

He darts a glance out of the window into the falling snowflakes. Watson is most likely thinking about the cold, too.  
His gaze is pensive, not brooding as I expected. Watson can´t do much between resting, writing and reading while he is ill, so I expected him to be in one of his rare bad moods. What is he thinking about? I don´t seem to able to read him as well as I used to.

Usually his expression is easy to read and interpret, but after my three years of absence  
and my sudden return five years ago his face and eyes have become more...'expressionless' seems to be an accurate description.

Sometimes he acts slightly cold as I myself do. There, this dreaded word again. Many negative things and memories I think about seem to revolve around this one word.

Cold.

I can see Watson´s reflection in the window studying me. I once again ask myself what he is thinking about. I guess it is the cold, the winter and the falling snow.

This conclusion appears to be most likely under the current circumstances.

What is his opinion about the cold?

I think I will just turn around now and ask him.


End file.
